


My Exception

by alto_mumma, IneffableHusbands95



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Brief mention of Mycroft Holmes, Dating, Declarations Of Love, Denial of Feelings, Drunk John Watson, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, John Watson is a Good Kisser, M/M, Molly Is A Matchmaker, Purple Shirt of Sex, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Some Humor, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27132622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alto_mumma/pseuds/alto_mumma, https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableHusbands95/pseuds/IneffableHusbands95
Summary: A well-meaning Sherlock Holmes proposes an unconventional approach for finding John a partner involving cameras, microphones and math. John, weary from too many bad dates, agrees to be the lab rat in what feels like yet another of Sherlock's crazy experiments.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 19
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first collab with the wonderful alto_mumma, and I am very excited by what we have created together!  
> We extend a million thanks to our amazing beta, holmesian_love for all her help!  
> Comments and kudos are appreciated, but respectful comments only please.  
> We hope you enjoy!

John wrestled with the key in the door. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he muttered under his breath in frustration. I’m not even drunk, why am I fumbling so much, he thought to himself as he eventually found the right key.

As if he wasn’t frustrated enough already, in turning the key, he discovered the door was, in fact, already unlocked. As it swung open, he could see Sherlock sitting in his chair, by the fire.

“Date didn’t go well?” Sherlock asked simply, without looking up from what he was doing.

“Well you’d know, mister consulting detective,” he said with a hint of sarcasm, but knowing the statement to be true. “And you could’ve told me the door was unlocked, instead of letting me fumble around in the dark.”

“You’re a grown man. I figured you’d work it out eventually,” Sherlock replied, trying not to enjoy the situation, or at least not to let his enjoyment show on his face.

“Well, that’s it, I officially give up. Dating is pointless. All the nice girls appear to be taken. Maybe I’ll just be married to my work, like you,” John resigned, as he drooped into his chair.

“Maybe the problem is you’re dating girls, not women,” Sherlock snapped back, taking slight offense at the notion that being married to his work was a bad thing.

“Oh, you know what I mean Sherlock. And seriously, if you don’t have anything helpful to say tonight, I don’t want to hear it. I’m not in the mood,” John said, rolling his eyes.

“Well, luckily for you, I do have something helpful to say,” Sherlock said, grinning from ear to ear, as he perched himself higher up on his chair, like an excited child.

“I’ve thought of a way to use my genius to find you the perfect life partner.”

“Really? Life partner?”

“Well, are you going to mock the idea before you’ve even heard it?” Sherlock questioned, his voice dripping with arrogance.

“I’m not sure how someone like you, with a distinct lack of…I mean you have no ability to…no experience in…” John fumbled over his words. “Oh, go on then,” he sighed, and got himself comfortable, gesturing for Sherlock to proceed. This’ll be good, he thought to himself.

“With psychology and science, we should be able to find you the perfect match. It’s like a dating app, but better,” Sherlock started explaining.

“How is it better?” John asked, wary of the answer.

“Because you’ll have me.” Sherlock was looking very pleased with himself, but in his usual manner, had left out several key steps in his explanation. He realised this when he saw the look on John’s face. “Oh do keep up, John.”

“Believe me, I’m trying,”

“Yes, very trying.” Sherlock shook his head and ruffled his fingers through his hair as if to shake off the disruption. His eyes focussed back on John again (a little too intently for John’s liking). “You’ll go out to…wherever it is you go to find women, just like normal, only you’ll be wearing an earpiece and a hidden camera,” Sherlock started to explain.

“Where will you get all this…wait, Mycroft? You’ve enlisted Mycroft to help me get a date?” John was getting more and more frustrated.

Sherlock ignored him and just picked up where he’d left off: “As you see women, I’ll be able to deduce things about them and tell you whether they’ll be a good fit for you or not,” he finished.

“But how do you know if someone is a good fit for me or not?”

“I told you. It’s all psychology and science. Will you at least try it? Test the theory?” By this stage, Sherlock was acting like a cross between a child on Christmas Eve and a puppy going for a walk.

“Fine, but I’m only doing this for one night, Sherlock, one night.”

Sherlock clapped his hands together excitedly and started to get the equipment out to show John.

“You already have the equipment? Urgh, of course you do, you arrogant arse.” John moaned. “I need a drink.”


	2. Chapter 2

John stood in the hallway outside his bedroom, took a deep breath, and reminded himself that, if he had the right attitude, this could all be a bit of fun. Somehow, with Sherlock involved, the likelihood of anything being fun was mostly out of the question. Interesting? Yes. Dangerous? At times. Exciting? Sure. But fun? Not so much. He checked his outfit in the hallway mirror and made his way, confidently, into the living room. 

Sherlock was sitting at the table, fiddling with all the gear from Mycroft and John felt a pang in his stomach. _Is this a good idea?_ He had mixed feelings; part of him was excited – it was like being a secret agent - the other part of him felt like it was wrong, that he was somehow violating these poor unsuspecting women.

“Alright, let’s get this over with then,” John said to Sherlock.

Sherlock had been so preoccupied with the gear, that he hadn’t seen or heard John come into the room, so the statement made him jump a little. He looked up and was momentarily lost for words. John was wearing the shirt that made his eyes pop and was slightly fitted, showing off his muscular shoulders. He had it tucked into his dressy jeans, accentuating his slim waistline. Plus he’d shaved. Why John wasn’t successfully dating, or even married by now, Sherlock did not understand. But it only made him more determined to succeed with his mission tonight.

“Hello, earth to Sherlock,” John mocked.

Sherlock suddenly realised he hadn’t said anything and had, in fact, just been staring at John for god only knows how long, so he quickly responded. 

“Yes, just working out where we’ll put everything. Perfect outfit choice, by the way,” he said, hoping that would cover for why he’d been staring.

“Thanks?” John said, unsure as to why Sherlock was suddenly complimenting him on his choice of clothes. That seemed very out of character.

“Ah, I just mean, it’ll work well with the gear, that’s all,” Sherlock said and started attaching everything to John. He realised they’d never really been that close before, physically, so he tried to pull his focus back to the task at hand. 

_Focus on the science, Sherlock,_ he told himself. He locked the other thought away for another time and finished setting up all the gear. He sat back down at the table and opened his laptop. 

“Right, so I should be able to see what you see and if you speak I’ll hear you,” Sherlock explained.

John moved into the kitchen, put his hand to his ear, and said: “testing, one, two, do you read me?”

“John, honestly, we’re not in a spy movie. You don’t need to put your hand to your ear like that and you can just talk normally. But yes, I can hear you,” he laughed.

“Right, and I can hear you too,” John replied, slightly embarrassed at his behaviour.

“Well, you know the drill, then. If there’s someone you like the look of, point her out and I’ll work my magic.”

“Mmhmm. I’m still not convinced this is any better than me just talking to people to get to know them, but we’ve come this far,” John sighed. 

“Oh come on John, it’ll be fun. Think of it as us working together on a case,” Sherlock smiled.

“I’m not one of your cases you can work on, Sherlock.” John could feel himself getting frustrated again.

“I don’t see why not, you clearly need my help,” Sherlock said, under his breath.

John, of course, heard the comment but figured it wasn’t worth his energy and instead put on his coat and headed off down the stairs. As he got to the bottom, he called back up. 

“Try not to have too much fun, Sherlock.”

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

John decided on a pub, rather than a club, for the experiment. That way he’d be able to hear Sherlock better, although he wasn’t entirely convinced that would be a good thing. He got himself a pint and found a quieter spot to sit; out in the beer garden, away from the live music a bit, but still close enough to the crowds. Before long, a group of ladies came outside and sat, huddled together, around one of the tables. _Right, here we go,_ John thought to himself.

“Sherlock, see those ladies at the table,” John whispered as he positioned himself to be facing them, but without drawing attention to himself. “What can you tell me about them?” he asked.

“The one in the red dress is recently separated. The one in the blue dress is an alcoholic. Flowery top: lives with her parents. Stripy jumper: lonely, has cats. Black jacket: married to her work.”

“How can you possibly know all of that just by looking at them?” John whispered, rolling his eyes and wondering why he’d agreed to this.

“We’ve been through this John, I’m always right. I could take you through how I deduced each one. The lady in the red dress has a tan line on her ring finger, suggesting she’s recently stopped wearing her wedding ring. But I know her husband didn’t die because– ” Sherlock started.

“Oh ok yes, yes, I get it. I don’t need all the details. Please, if this has _any_ chance of working, I need you to spare me the details.”

“Well, you asked,” Sherlock replied, confused.

“Sherlock, it was a rhetorical qu– ” He stopped mid-sentence as he realised the ladies had turned around and were looking right at John.

_Oh god, did they hear me talking to Sherlock? Well, myself, as they see it? Bollocks!_

John decided to make his move. He started walking over to the table and the ladies quickly turned around and started giggling to each other. He went to the end of the table where the lady with the stripy jumper was sitting. She was even prettier up close: beautiful brown eyes, caramel blonde hair, an inviting smile…but before John had a chance to say anything, he suddenly heard Sherlock in his ear: “abort, abort!”

“What?” John said, unsure as to why Sherlock was interfering. 

The lady looked at him and put her hand on her chest. “Um, sorry, I didn’t say anything, can I help you?” she questioned.

John realised he’d responded out loud and then very quickly noticed the smile on the lady’s face had turned into a concerned frown and her friends suddenly looked very protective.

“Oh, no, sorry, my mistake, I thought I knew you.” 

It was all John could come up with on the spur of the moment. As soon as he said it, he felt like a right fool. 

“Have a good night,” he quickly added and hurried back inside. Once inside, he found the men’s room and locked himself in a stall. 

“Sherlock, you can’t just blurt stuff out like that,” he said angrily, and probably too loudly for Sherlock at the other end.

“But it wasn’t going to work. She– ” Sherlock started.

“I don’t care. Let’s just stick to yes or no answers. If the answer is no, I’ll move on. If it’s yes, you’ll then shut up so I can talk to her. Got it?” John said, wondering why at this point he wasn’t just taking the earpiece out and flushing it down the toilet.

Annoyingly, having Sherlock on the other end of the gear made him feel more confident, like he had a wingman.

“Ok, right, yes or no. Got it. Right, back out there Doctor Watson,” Sherlock said, way too enthusiastically.

The rest of the night saw both Sherlock and John frustrated with each other. John would talk to women Sherlock said no to, but ignore the ones he said yes to. And when John did listen to Sherlock’s advice, it never seemed to lead to anything. 

Eventually, John caught the eye of a woman at the bar, got the yes he wanted from Sherlock, and went about chatting to her over a drink. After a while, John excused himself and headed back to the men’s room.

“What are you doing?” Sherlock asked. “She seems perfect.” 

“I wanted to see if you’d deduced anything else I might need to know before I offer her my number,” John responded.

Sherlock was surprised by John’s sudden need for him, but he pushed that thought aside and blurted out all the things he’d deduced about the woman at the bar. 

“Well, she’s a similar age to you, maybe a bit younger; she has a good corporate job, accountant, no, lawyer; she has dated a few men, but never settles down; family woman, but lives on her own with a dog. I say go for it.” Sherlock concluded, proudly.

“Right, thanks. Not that I need your approval.” 

John suddenly realised he was enjoying this, but didn’t want it to go to Sherlock’s head.

“Ok, well I’m turning this stuff off. Don’t wait up.”

“No, wait, I…hello, John, John?” Sherlock tapped on the mic, fiddling with his headphones and the various settings on his laptop, but John must have turned the earpiece _and_ the camera off.

Suddenly the flat was very quiet. 

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

“Molly, yeah it’s John. Just wondering if you’re up for a drink. You won’t believe the night I’ve had. No, I’ll come your way. Yep, see you there in twenty.”

John hung up the phone. He couldn’t face going home to Sherlock after things had gone so badly at the pub, so he arranged to meet Molly for a drink. He just needed a friend. And a female perspective.

He hailed a cab and once in it, took all the gear off. He realised he had nowhere to put it, so he just bundled it into his hand and used the wire from the camera to wrap around it, forming a little tie.

When he reached the pub, Molly was just getting out of another cab and he suddenly felt relieved to see a familiar face.

“Hey Molly,” he called out, so she wouldn’t just go straight inside.

“Oh John,” she said, hugging him. “What’s been going on?”

“I need another drink first,” he chuckled. “Come on, my shout.” He gestured for Molly to go first, helping her with her coat at the door.

They got themselves a drink and found a quiet booth where they could talk. John placed the gear on the table, off to the side slightly, and proceeded to tell Molly the whole story about the failed dates, Sherlock’s great plan, the gear, the deductions, and how everything went wrong.

“Molly, you have no idea,” he said.

“Well really, John, why did you think having Sherlock in your ear would be anything but a disaster?” she asked him, trying not to laugh at the whole situation.

“Oh, who knows,” John said. “That last woman I thought I had a real chance with, but it turns out she was only looking for a one-night stand and I want more than that.” John rolled his eyes and let out a laugh.

Before long they were both in fits of giggles, especially since John was, by then, rather tipsy.

As their laughter naturally subsided, Molly looked at him more seriously. “John, what do you actually  _ want _ in a partner?”

“Hmm?” John wasn’t expecting the change in mood.

“Well, Sherlock says he can fix it all with psychology and science, and while, god help us all, he’s somewhat right, you need to actually know what you want, what you’re looking for.” She stopped to see how John would respond. He seemed to be taking it in so she continued. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that there’s no point just dating for the sake of it. What are you looking for in a partner? In life? Maybe you need to figure that out and just, I don’t know, stop  _ looking _ for a while and see what happens?”

John didn’t know what to say. He’d never really thought about it like that. He’d always just gone from date to date, thinking there was something wrong with him.

“Go on, list off your perfect woman,” she teased him.

“Ah, ok… well, they need to be smart, attractive, a good companion, not too sensitive, up for a little adventure, live here in London somewhere. You know just a ‘no-nonsense, tell it like it is, fun-loving’ kinda gal,” he said, shocked at how easily he could rattle that off. 

He looked at Molly and she had that look she gets when she’s helping on a case and can see something Sherlock can’t (usually about human interaction, not the actual case), but tries desperately to hide the little grin forming in the corner of her mouth.

“Molly, why do you have that look? What am I missing?” he asked her.

“You don’t see it, do you?” She was still trying desperately to stifle the grin.

“See what?” John asked, utterly confused.

“You’re not going to like this, but you just described Sherlock,” she said, sitting back in her chair, almost as if to protect herself from the onslaught she was about to receive.

“Pfft, don’t be ridiculous,” John scoffed. “I’m not gay! Sherlock’s not gay!”

“Aren’t you? Isn’t he?” She let that thought sit there for a moment, then added: “maybe that’s why you never have any luck finding women because deep down you always want to go home to Sherlock. It’s like you’re sabotaging your dates on purpose, subconsciously of course.”

“I don’t… why would you… urgh, Molly, I asked you here for a woman’s perspective, to help me figure out why I can’t get a date, not make up some crazy theory about Sherlock and I secretly being gay and having feelings for each other,” John practically spat at Molly.

“Well, that  _ is  _ my ‘woman’s perspective’,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders. “Take it or leave it, but you can’t deny that you just described Sherlock to a tee. Now, maybe you could find the female version of Sherlock, but I doubt that very much. Besides, I watch you two on cases, and you’re more than just friends, you’re partners. And I guess… well, maybe you could be life partners too.”

“Life partners? That’s the term he used at the start of this whole debacle,” John said, not knowing what to think about all this. “You’re wrong, Molly, you’re just wrong,” he said, shaking his h ead. “I’m sur e I described plenty of people in the world and besides, Sherlock is married to his work.” John wasn’t sure why he was so confused and feeling defensive.    
  
“Tonight has just been one weird thing after another,” he said, shaking his head again.

Molly laughed and suggested that maybe John should at least think about it. “And if all else fails, I have a couple of girlfriends I could try setting you up with,” she said as if to offer an olive branch of forgiveness.

“Well, on that note, it must be time for another drink,” John declared.

“No, I think it’s time for you to call it a night, John. Come on, let’s go get you a cab,” she said, and they grabbed their coats and walked out into the night. 

John didn’t even respond. He was miles away. “Oh, goodnight Molly. Thanks for tonight. I think,” he said as he shut the door and placed the gear on the seat beside him. 

“Shit,” he muttered to himself. “What if she’s right? What if I have feelings for Sherlock?” He stopped talking and gave the driver his address.

_ Nope, squash that shit down, John. Even if you did, he wouldn’t return them, _ he thought to himself as he leaned back on the headrest and closed his eyes.

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock was in the kitchen when he heard a noise coming from the living room. It sounded like John’s voice. 

_ That’s strange, I didn’t hear John come through the door,  _ he thought to himself. 

He walked out into the living room, but there was no John. It took a second for him to realize what was happening: somehow the microphone had been turned back on.

_ Oh, he must want my help again _ . 

He turned his end back on and started speaking into the microphone: “What’s happening? Where are you? What do you need?” 

No response.

“John? Hello?” Still nothing. “Hmm, that’s strange,” he muttered to himself. 

The camera was still off, but the audio was definitely working. 

_ He must have bumped it back on by accident,  _ he realised. 

He went to turn it off and walk away but he heard Molly’s voice. 

_ Why is Molly with John?  _ he thought to himself.  _ I must be hearing wrong, he can’t be with Molly, he was with the woman at the bar.  _

He was confused and couldn’t get his mind to focus. 

_ Have I gone into my mind palace and lost a whole night? Why else would John be with Molly?  _

He checked the time on his watch. He even checked the date on his laptop. Both confirmed it was still the same evening, so he sat down, put the earphones on, and turned up the volume. There was a little background noise but he could quite clearly make out both John and Molly’s voices.

He paused for a moment. 

_ They don’t know I’m listening. Maybe I shouldn’t. Oh, it wouldn’t hurt, just for a few minutes. In the name of science _ . 

He grinned as he started to listen to their conversation, but the grin quickly turned into a grimace and his eyes widened.

_ Does he want to come home to me? Could that be true? Surely not?  _

He kept listening.

After realizing he’d lost focus for a minute, he turned up the volume and closed his eyes, blocking everything else out. He listened as Molly ushered John outside and into a cab, but the microphone was still on.

_ Feelings? For me?  _

Sherlock took the headphones off, shut his laptop, and just sat there, frozen to the spot, unable to move. 

There was no way that John Watson had romantic feelings towards him, there would have been signs, signs that a genius like him would not have missed. 

_ He’s just drunk, he was already starting to slur his words when they got into the cab _ .

They were work partners and flatmates, just as they always had been. Nothing more. But if John theoretically really was gay, or at least attracted to  _ Sherlock _ , what would he even do with that information? 

Twenty minutes later, the detective was still silently sorting through his mind palace for anything related to John Watson, any clues that he might have filed away for later and forgotten. 

The sound of a key fumbling in the front door lock startled Sherlock out of his reverie, and he swore, hurrying to switch off the audio equipment and rearrange the table to make it look as though he had been studying samples and cultures instead. 

“How’d the date go, then?” he asked nonchalantly as a slightly inebriated John stumbled into the flat, giggling giddily at himself when he tripped over his own feet and almost fell over.

“It went fine. Lovely woman, just not my cup of tea. We wanted different things,” John shrugged as he tossed his keys onto the table, the lie coming to him far too easily for Sherlock’s liking.

_ What else has John been lying about _ ?  _ Am I losing my touch?  _

“How odd, you seemed to be hitting it off, and she fitted the algorithm perfectly. What did you do to scare her off?” Sherlock probed, one brow arched. He wasn’t sure why he was being such an arse towards John, but he couldn’t seem to stop.

John scowled, folding his arms across his chest. “Have you ever considered that perhaps it’s your stupid bloody  _ algorithm  _ that’s faulty, not me?” 

“Unlikely.”

“Not  _ everything _ in this world can be solved by science and numbers, for christ’s sake Sherlock!” John yelled, and Sherlock watched in interest as the younger man’s jaw clenched in frustration. 

_ Why can I suddenly not stop staring at John’s jawline? _

“You are honestly  _ insufferable _ sometimes, Sherlock. There’s no way in hell I’m ever doing that again! No more pubs or clubs, no more dates and algorithms. If I really want to find someone, I’ll manage just fine by myself the old fashioned way. Or join sodding  _ Tinder _ .” 

“Nobody is stopping you, John!”

A hostile silence sizzled between them.

“You know, I could ask the same questions of you. Why do  _ you  _ never go looking for anyone? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you leave this flat unless it was for a case or one of your experiments!” 

Sherlock felt himself bristle at the words, and he sat up a little straighter.

“John, must I tell you again what I told you when we first met? I’m-” 

“Married to your work? Yes, but nobody ever said anything about  _ marriage _ Sherlock!” John bit back, cutting the detective off before he could finish his sentence. 

Sherlock watched as the doctor spun on his heel and stalked out of the room. 

“Where are you going?”

“To bed!  _ Goodnight _ , Sherlock.”

Before Sherlock could even finish opening his mouth to reply, John was gone, the aggressive slam of his bedroom door echoing down the hallway. 

“Goodnight, John” he whispered to the empty room. 

Oddly, the thought that he had offended John, made him angry, filled him with an irrational sense of sadness an d guilt. He wa ited until he could hear the other man snoring before he gathered some painkillers and a glass of water, carefully slipping into the room to place them on his nightstand , knowing he would need them in the morning. 

When he went to leave, Sherlock turned back, pausing in the doorway to study John. He was sprawled out across his bed with all his clothes still on , including shoes ; lips parted slightly as his chest steadily rose and fell. 

Sherlock had never seen John this way before and was taken aback by just how... _ beautiful _ the man looked as he slept. His face was relaxed and serene, silvery hair mussed against the pillow, body bathed in small slivers of moonlight that shone through his curtains. 

Was he...in love with John Watson?

_ Shit _ . 

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

When John awoke the next morning, the first thing he was aware of was the painful pounding of his head. The second was a glass of water and tablets next to him that  Sherlock had left for him. 

As he forced  himself to tentatively sit up in bed and take the medicine with a wince, flashes of memory from the night before came flooding back. Slowly he began to recall everything that had transpired, from Molly's attempts to convince him that he had feelings for Sherlock to the heated argument the pair had shared when he returned home. 

But, his memories of pretending to still be asleep while Sherlock stood by the bed hungrily drinking him in were the cl earest. At f irst, he had thought the detective was simply checking he was asleep, making sure he was still breathing. But a few well-timed peeks from beneath his lashes were all it took for him to glimpse the way the other man’s eyes slowly raked over every last inch of him. 

John had  _ liked _ it. A  _ lot _ . 

The realization filled him with a thousand different feelings, but his rumbling stomach was demanding to be fed, and he knew he couldn't hide in his room and try to forget Sherlock existed forever. With a sigh, he extracted himself from his tangled sheets and shuffled into the bathroom.

Moments later he stepped into the shower, closing his eyes as the hot water cascaded down on him, relaxing his tense mu scles. As h e washed, his thoughts once again drifted to his flatmate, who was likely already in at the dining room table after waking at some ungodly hour to tinker with his latest disturbing experiment or trawl for new cases. 

In the space of one evening, he had not only become almost certain that Sherlock was interested in him romantically, but that something as simple as the younger man watching him sleep sent a pleasant shiver through him that he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. 

The longer he thought about it, the more he began to recall things that he had pushed to the back of his mind over the past year, things that his subconscious had locked away where he wouldn’t have to deal with them. 

Things like odd tingles that would travel through his body when the two of them had accidentally touched on cases, even just the slightest brush of skin. The way Sherlock’s deep, velvety voice had often stirred something slumbering deep within him that he was too frightened to awaken. How he would often catch himself staring at the other man’s long, graceful neck or full lips and then immediately look away when he caught himself, dismissing it as an accident.

For an entire year, he had been in denial, too terrified to believe that he could be anything other than straight. His lack of attraction towards any of the women he, or Sherlock for that matter, had found for him since he met the younger man made a lot of sense all of a sudden. He had never had any interest in men before, it was just... _ Sherlock _ .

As he stepped out of the shower to dress and dry his short hair, John sighed.

_ Here goes. _

When John walked into the kitchen, Sherlock was exactly where he had predicted he would be, hunched over his microscope with a bowl of half-eaten cereal at his elbow. 

“How’s the hangover?” Sherlock asked without looking up from his work , as John made himself some strong coffee.

“Could be worse. I wasn’t  _ that _ drunk, Sherlock.” 

Sherlock looked up at John for a moment, something flickering across his face that looked an awful lot like amusement. “Listen , about what I said last night, I’m-”

“I’m sorry too, Sherlock. Let’s put it behind us, hmm?”

What else could he possibly have said?  _ Sherlock, I know you were watching me last night. Oh, and by the way, I can’t stop thinking about how good it would feel to snog you senseless? _

The detective nodded without looking John in the eyes, and rose to put his dishes in the sink. There was total silence between them, the two of them just standing in the kitchen staring at each other. 

_ Has the temperature in the room just gone up ten degrees? Does Sherlock feel it too? _

_ He _ ’s _ wearing that sodding purple shirt again _ .  _ Jesus. _

“We should get going. Lestrade called half an hour ago with a body for us , ” Sherlock finally said a minute later, bringing an end to their impasse, and busying himself with packing away his equipment. 

“Right, yeah. Give me a minute to get my things,” John muttered, clearing his throat and fleeing the room. 


	7. Chapter 7

Six days later, John was pretty sure he was losing all grip on his sanity. For six whole, excruciatingly awkward days, he and Sherlock had tiptoed around each other, avoided one another’s company wherever possible. The effortless companionship between them was not the only thing affected; their professional partnership was also suffering. John was making mistakes when his medical knowledge was called upon, and Sherlock was missing important clues, more off his game than John had ever seen him.

And with every passing day, John wanted him  _ more _ . 

It was ten at night when he sat on the end of his bed with a sigh and pulled out his phone and addressed a text message to Molly out of sheer desperation. 

**10.10 pm:**

**Molly, you were right.** **  
** **J.**

**10.12pm:**

**_About?_ **

**10:16pm:**

**Pretty sure I am gay. For Sherlock, at least.**

**10:16pm:**

**_I knew it._ **

**10:20pm:**

**I’m almost certain he feels the same way, but nothing is happening. Both of us are waiting for the other to make the first move, and it's driving me bloody mental.**

**10:24pm:**

**_This is Sherlock Holmes we’re talking about John. He’s probably terrified._ **

**10:27pm:**

**What should I do,then?**

**10:27pm:**

**_Make the first move, John._ **

**10:30pm:**

**Shit.**

**10:31pm:**

**_Good luck._** **_Go get him, tiger! xx._**

John put down his phone with a sigh and went to bed.If he screwed this up, it could spell the end of their friendship, and that wasn't something John was ready to lose. 

The next morning John was squinting at his laptop , trying to update his blog, but making little progress because his eyes kept sliding over to cast furtive glances at Sherlock. The younger man was sprawled out in his chair, hissing criticism at an episode of some cringey crime drama. 

John had barely slept the night before, up half the night running possible conversations and speeches through his head until he had a headache and the early morning light streamed through his bedroom window. 

He had tried to get up the courage for the past several hours, but the timing never seemed right, the words dying in his throat at every attempt. Slowly, John closed the lid of his laptop and set it aside to stare at the oblivious detective sitting across the room from him. 

_ You know what? Enough is enough. _

“Sherlock?” he croaked, his heart thundering against his ribcage so loudly he was afraid the other man could hear it. 

“Hmm?” the detective mumbled absently, eyes remaining glued to the telly. 

With a shaky hand, John reached for the remote and turned it off, jumping to his feet and crossing the room to stand before him.

“ _ Sherlock _ !”

Before the startled detective could get a word out, John reached out and gently grasped his large hands, pulling him to his feet. 

Sherlock stared at him quizzically, eyes focusing on their entwined hands with an awkward grimace, but not pulling them out of John's grasp either. 

“John we need to talk abou-”

“Sherlock there’s something you should kno-” 

Both men abruptly fell silent. 

John’s cheeks coloured and he cleared his throat. “Go on, you first.”

"John, where were you really that night? I  _ know _ you weren't with that last woman, on the date." 

"I…I was with Molly, Sherlock."

Stung, Sherlock snatched his hands away and took a step back. "I should have known, should have deduced…" 

"What? No, not  _ with  _ Molly, you daft sod! We met up for a drink. She's been giving me...advice."

Sherlock frowned, relaxing a little under John's touch. "Advice on  _ what,  _ exactly?"

" _ You _ , Sherlock." 

"I see. What kind of advice? All I ever tried to do was help you, John!” Sherlock snapped. Sherlock was scowling now, balled fists trembling at his sides. 

_ Just be honest with him. You can handle that. _

"She made me realise there was a reason I am so picky with women, why I find it so hard to date. Everything I wanted in a romantic partner kept leading back to you. She suggested I show you what you really mean to me, so here I am. Doing that," he whispered awkwardly into the slowly diminishing space between them. 

He went to press a single kiss to the same maddeningly beautiful lips he had yearned to touch for forever, but Sherlock turned away at the last second, the kiss landing on his cheek instead. John drew back, hurt. 

_ Did I really misread the situation so badly?  _

“John, I’m sorry. I...You’re my best friend, and... I  _ can’t _ lose you” he whispered, so quietly John would never have heard if they weren’t standing inches apart. 

“Sherlock, we would get through it. We’ve had much worse situations thrown at us, and yet our bond is stronger than ever. I would never leave you, I’m here as long as you’ll  have me.” 

Sherlock sighed, and tentatively offered John his hand again.“Yolu realise if we did this, there’d be no going back...”

“Is that your way of saying you want me to kiss you?” 

“I would  _ very much _ like you to kiss me, John. Yes.”

John paused a moment to search Sherlock’s eyes, but saw nothing other than desire reflected back at him. He was still unsure about crossing that line, though. It was a big step to take. Sherlock surprised him by moving first, gently tugging the front of his shirt to bring their lips together.

At first, their kiss was awkward and clumsy, but tender. John's arms wrapped around to circle Sherlock's thin waist as the embrace of their lips became more synchronized, the press of their mouths growing increasingly desperate with each passing moment. 

Kissing Sherlock Holmes left John feeling as though he had never truly been kissed before that moment. Sherlock's lips had been made only for him, crafted to fit perfectly between his and nobody else’s.

Sherlock’s hand slid up into John’s hair, the short strands sticking up between his fingers, and John sighed against him, gently licking at the seam of the younger man’s lips. 

Sherlock bid him entrance with no hesitation, and both men moaned softly as their tongues met, tasting and exploring.

Their kiss was coffee flavoured, both men having downed almost a whole pot between them so far that morning.

John slowly backed them up against a wall with a firm  _ thump _ , hands running up and down Sherlock’s broad chest as they kissed like their lives depended on it. 

After a heavenly eternity, John slowly pulled away, pressing his forehead to Sherlock’s and holding him close against his body. 

They remained like that for a long moment, eyes closed as their ragged breaths slowed and heart rates returned to normal. 

“Thank you, John.”

“For what?” 

“For this, for finally making the move I was too much of a coward to make.” 

John frowned, perplexed. _Finally?_ _How could he have known? Was I being that bloody obvious?_

“I heard part of your conversation, John. When Molly suggested that your ideal match was actually me? The audio was still on.” 

“Oh," John winced, cheeks colouring in embarrassment at some of the things Sherlock must have heard. 

“Listen, while we are on the topic of confessions, is there something you might like to tell me? About what happened that night after I went to bed?” John teased, grinning. 

“I...don’t know what you’re talking about, John,” Sherlock stammered, blushing. 

John squeezed his arm reassuringly. “Sherlock, I know you were watching me, when you thought I was asleep.”

S herlock's blush deepened. "You must think me some sort of freak."

"No more than usual.” He laughed when Sherlock rolled his eyes good naturedly. “Bu t I'm flattered, honestly. It felt... _ good _ , to be appreciated like that. You made me feel special, and I haven’t felt special in a very long time, Sherlock."

Sherlock sighed, offering a smile. “I wanted so badly to say something, but I was so  _ scared _ , John. Scared of losing you if I got it wrong. You're the centre of my universe.”

The younger man was quiet for a moment. "Losing you...it would have destroyed me, John." There were tears glistening in Sherlock's eyes.

John frowned, and cupped his cheek. “Look at me, Sherlock. I' m  not going anywhere, alright?" John whispered fiercely, kissing him on the tip of his nose.

"Thank you. I know that, now" Sherlock smiled softly, lifting John's hand to his mouth and pressing a tender kiss to his palm. 

"What happened to being married to your work, anyway?" he grinned a moment later, trying to lighten the mood. 

“There are exceptions to every rule.”

A warmth washed over John at the words.

“You are my exception, John Hamish Watson.”

“Thank god for Molly Hooper,” he breathed into the side of Sherlock’s neck, and they giggled against each other until John’s sides hurt. 

John kissed Sherlock once more, relishing in the feeling of finally being  _ home _ .

Maybe algorithms had their uses after all.


End file.
